


There's No Blood in Bone

by Measured_Words



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Dragons, Elves, Fantasy, Grief/Mourning, Humans, Magic, No dungeons though - sorry, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've been in Merit for a very long time, going through the motions of one life or another.  You're still not ready for it to be upended, and certainly not to face the things you can't handle, and that you can't leave behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Blood in Bone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [violeteyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violeteyes/gifts).



There's No Blood in Bone

Solana came to you for help, but you sent her away. You're a baker now, you told her, and that's all. She's gone now, giving up on you at least for the time being, but perhaps she has succeeded in unsettling you some. Elves are not prone to panic over nothing, and she's been overseeing these lands in her own way for a while. This wizard she spoke of is only a sign – you can tell yourself that you're not interested in the fall of empires, except... you know what it means. The disruption will calm, but there will be scars. You're not sure you're ready to handle more scars.

Merit is your home. You've lived here for a very long time. Everyone in town knows you, even though you're not the only baker. You're not ambitious, but you are consistent. Reliable. It's been this way for over 50 years now, and you've settled into this life. You've hardly had to have a conversation with anyone who lives here that wasn't about bread, or the weather, or something else inane, in decades. That's how you like it. It means you don't have to think.

You've always found Solana challenging. She first came to you years ago with a group of adventurers. They tracked you to this town, but she's the one who picked you out. She wanted your help then too. In the end, you told them what they wanted to know just to make them go away. You didn't want them threatening the life you'd built. You didn't want to give in to resentment, either. You didn't – don't – want to feel anything. You think Solana understands, but this only lends weight to her plea. 

When you told her no this time, Solana told you that she couldn't afford to leave empty-handed. There are others in town she could ask – not as powerful as you, of course, but better help than nothing. You know that she meant Merit. The girl, not the town. She's a sorceress, which some say means she has draconic heritage. You're not sure what you think of that, but if it is true, you know it must come from her mother's side. Her mother is an outsider, an historian, who married into the town. She's worked hard to be accepted, and you're not sure she's quite managed it. People respect her, absolutely, but they will never think of her as one of their own. She could never stop being herself enough to really blend in.

Merit, the girl, is accepted because she was born her. There is a story about the town's founding. Elthric was a hero with a band of followers. He heard of a valley where two green dragons lived, and he decided he would slay them and claim the land for his people. He was partly successful – he slew the one, catching it surprised and away from its mate. But the mate, furious, slew him in return. Elthric's wife, possessed by her own vengeful fury, finished the job. Her name was Merit, and the name stuck. It is not a true story, but it is a popular one, and you've never corrected it. There have been many women named Merit here, and there are likely to be more. This one is the only one you can recall who's been a sorceress. Draconic blood.

*

The next day, Merit comes to see you. You weren't expecting that. It's late in the evening – your shop is closed. This is what you say when you answer her urgent knocking, but she insists she wants to talk to you. You wonder if it would attract more interest to let her in or send her away, and decide that Merit is not likely to leave you be in quiet. You feel a flicker of something like annoyance, but you quash it as the door swings open and she steps inside.

You've never spoken with her much – no more than required for basic small town courtesy. She's quite young, only nineteen, with long dark hair. Her eyes are a brilliant, shimmering, green. You can actually feel her power. She's scrutinizing you, but you're not sure what, if anything, she might sense in return.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I know Solana came to see you, but she wouldn't tell me anything. It's so frustrating – she's the only person I've ever met who knows anything about magic, and she won't teach me anything."

You shrug, as though you're not sure what this has to do with you. "Druids keep their own ways," is all you say.

"I know.... It's just that, if she came to see you, I thought...maybe she came to you for help too.... And... maybe you knew...something?" She looks hopeful, though her exuberance is running out of steam. You're impassive.

"I don't know why you thought that," you say.

"I just – I feel..." Merit sets her jaw. She's that age, you suppose. "I know there's more going on than anyone will tell me. Mother is just always full of hints, without saying anything because she doesn’t want to upset things. And Solana only tells me what's useful to her. I'm tired of it, that's all."

"I'm a baker." You shake your head, wishing she would go away. Except you're sure she must sense enough from you not to accept that particular truth.

She doesn't. Merit furrows her brow. "Mother came here because she was looking for information on her family tree. She stayed because she found something, but she won't tell me anything more. I know you've been here a long time. Do you know anything about that?"

This one you can answer honestly, and you shake your head again. Merit presses on. So young, so eager for secrets and mysteries. You can understand that, but would rather not get tangled up in this mess.

"My name – my whole name – is Merithanwe. Does that mean anything to you?"

You are caught off guard, and for a brief moment all of your barriers waver. What lurks beyond them is still too much, still too overwhelming. After a moment of silence, you find your strength.

"You need to go." 

Merit backs away, and you notice that her eyes have gone large, whites showing around the green, pupils large and dark. Once she is out the door, she turns to run. Slowly, you uncurl your fingers, trying to reclaim your dispassion. You think she might be the first person here to be afraid of you in a very long time, and the best you hope will come out of it is nothing.

* 

Your next day is quiet, and you are grateful. In the morning it is just you and the bread – you shape the loaves from dough that has been resting since the day before. You make yours from a yeast culture that is older than some of the people in town. It has a sharp sourness to it, and it sells well. You make the pastries, and start mixing dough for the next few days. You feed your culture, certain that your troubles will pass in time. Everything passes in time, surely, given enough of it. You try to push away the thoughts that Merit – Merithanwe – has stirred up. You allow yourself to feel bad for her, tucked away in this tiny nowhere place, but her problems have nothing to do with you.

Solana comes back that night. There is no point pretending that you're not home, not awake, so you let her in again. You don't say much, and she sits quietly with you for a while. When she does speak, she talks about the world, the things she has learned and seen and done. She doesn't say anything about wizards or empires, and while you can hear their machinations behind her words, you understand that this is not her intention. Like you, she prefers to live alone, apart from her people's enclaves in the forests ringing the mountains, and prefers the companionship of animals. You’re one of her exceptions, like the adventurers she used to travel with. These days, she's wise enough not to get drawn into most petty troubles. The world goes on, but it's nice to hear the stories. Before she leaves, she tells you she is worried about you.

You go to sleep. Sleep is a refuge, allowing you to turn off your mind for a time. It has been a while since you have considered slipping into a longer, deeper, rest, but that has never helped before. When you wake up, you still feel the same – empty and dull. You tend to the bread. You know exactly what it needs from you.

That afternoon, after you have sold out of your wares for the day, you have another visitor. Even though you've never spoken much before, you know who she is, just as you know who everyone else is in town: Merit's mother. Her name is Galanwre. She's very nervous, standing on the doorstep of your shop, and you are certain now that she knows who you are. You admit her as well, though you feel weary, ready to be done with all disturbances of your peace.

She has come to apologize. You're not very interested in the gesture, but she confirms some of your suspicions. She came here researching her family's heritage. Having heard somewhere the myth of the town's founding, she came to see what she could make of it. The version of the tale she relates is much more accurate – she certainly had better sources. Her daughter was named as an honor to an aunt several generations past. Galanwre claims she never meant to intrude, but you can smell the lie, even if it isn't intentional. The distinction between curious and nosy isn't of great interest to you either, especially when the effects are indistinguishable. You don't tell Galanwre this though. You tell her to go back to her own life, and to leave you out of it.

Your memories weigh too heavily on you after all these visits. Your shield of apathy is heavy and the fear of what will happen if it fails erodes your strength. If your heart is a void, how fragile are you at your core? You know these days mean little, in the scheme of things. The world will move on no matter what you do, or how you feel. A day is nothing, except that you have to live through them one by one. 

Sleep eludes you this night. If you have to live through it as well, you decide to give in. You allow this little weakness with a lie of your own: that you are building yourself up, grounding yourself, recalling your purpose. You leave the house, but not by any conventional means. You know exactly where you want to go, and your will – and magic – are sufficient to carry you there.

There is a hill of sorts, just off one of the main paths that lead away from the town. Few give it much thought, but if they did it might occur that there are no other such features in the landscape, or that it is too even to be completely natural. It is grown over with trees and brush, which make it difficult to observe. The occasional astute locals who have given it thought, and the even fewer who ever considered these details in conjunction with their town's mythology, were dissuaded from testing any theories. Very few people have ever been inside. Solana is one of them, and you are only briefly surprised to find her waiting for you.

The hill is a barrow. Magically shaped stone vaults up over the bones that lie within, all that remains of a body once carefully arranged in rest. Now the brittle scales litter the floor, their brilliance rendered dull with age and dust. Wings that overlaid her back lie intermixed with ribs and vertebrae. You could take the time to sort it out, and you’ve told yourself before that you should, that you will. But you can never bring yourself to do more than reach your hand – the soft flesh you wear now, that has been yours in one form or another for so very long it has begun to feel natural – and lay it on her shoulder. You do this now, remembering. Solana does nothing to disturb you. Her presence keeps you from falling too far into reminiscence, but you can still see in your mind's eye those great wings stretched taut, carried by wind and magic. Merithanwe was always faster, bolder than you.

You don't look at her, but you speak to Solana. "What do you know of the Empire of Fya-ahz-alun?"

"The Empire of Sea and Sun? I've heard of it. In my grandmother's time, her power was quite extensive, though she was never able to wrest control of the Forest of Screams from the Altenye Elves, and the poisoned ocean rebellion put an end to her plans to invade further east over our mountains. I've heard that the coasts have never recovered, and that there are places where the oceans still boil and beaches of black sand where nothing has lived in five hundred years."

"Scars," you say. And then you tell her more, because you still remember why she came to you for help. "Fya-ahz-alun was a powerful warlock, who had made pacts for her power with creatures from the farthest outer planes whose power leaked into this place through rifts deep below the oceans. Not many understood this. Most who fled her sought only to escape a petty, grasping, tyrant. If the people of Heul hadn't sacrificed themselves to stop her when they did, there would have been nowhere left to go. The resistance of the Altenye would have meant nothing."

Solana is an elf. She takes time to consider her answer. "Then the people of Heul understood that nothing is hopeless."

Merithanwe thought that as well. That was why the two of you left – it was not, as you'd thought at first, that she didn't understand all that was happening. "I thought we should go to the inner planes. But there was always time for that retreat, and we came here instead. We didn't know the pass was so easy to access, or maybe we would have gone somewhere else – not even very far. Just far enough." You know the area now, and you know precisely what better choices you could have made.

You didn't hear Solana move, but you can sense her behind you. You turn to look as she reaches out, placing a hand on your arm. You can't remember the last time anyone touched you so deliberately. You want to slap her for her impudence. You want to turn away and disappear forever. You want to scream and flatten the world around you. You want to turn toward her and...

You do nothing. It's so easy after all this time.

Solana slides her hand along your arm until her fingers curl around yours, pulling them gently away from Merithanwe. You're shaking. She doesn't let go of your hand. "She's gone," she says.

"You don't know what that means." Your voice is shaking too. Merithanwe is gone, and you can't follow. You waited for the end to come, after she died, but the world saved itself and went on. 

"You're right, I can't. But the world shouldn't have to lose you both." She reaches up to brush your face. "This is unnatural."

"I let them live for me." You mean the humans – the town and its people. None of this would have come to be if you hadn't allowed it. "I killed Il-thy-erig. It was so easy. It shouldn't have happened – he shouldn't have been able to hurt her. He caught her off guard, somehow. I wasn't here, but I felt it..." Suddenly, she was gone. Part of you torn away. An emptiness filled with rage. "His wife's name was Al-ehn-ana. Alanna. I tore him apart in front of her. She had no weapon of her own – she threw a stone at me. A stone. I might have killed her, but I could see into her heart. We were the same. I raised my head, and I screamed until there was nothing left in me."

"Why did you stay with them?"

"When the world didn't end... I wanted to see what they became." You still felt things then – grief and anger and resentment. You didn't want to leave her, either, and it was easier, if they thought you were one of them, to be left alone. There were times when you considered elaborate revenges, ways to wound them all as deeply as you'd been wounded. But there was no point. You'd killed the one responsible, and that hadn't helped, so why try? Why try anything. Nothing helped, so nothing was what you did. You drifted along on the course of their lives, engaging minimally to provide minor services, like bread, clothes, smithing. "I couldn't leave her."

Solana squeezes your fingers. You're almost equal in height in this form, though she's more finely built. Her eyes are green too – a deep moss green that suits her well. You've seen them before, but never really noticed. Her hair is brown, short and practical, and it accentuates the sharp angles of her face. It's just observation, that's all. She speaks. "Merithanwe isn't here." Her voice is firm. "Maybe it's time to try something else."

Solana helps you lay out the bones. She doesn’t touch them, though you think she might if you asked. But she stays with you, and when you need it, she is there to rest her hand on your back and call you back from the darkness. 

* 

It takes you three nights. During the day, you go about your normal routine of breads and customers, but something has changed, is changing. Your shield has cracked and you're having to learn to deal with feeling again – grief of course, sadness and anger. Even the small things feel huge: annoyance at the old man who tries to cheat you regularly, the pleasure of exchanges with customers who, if you'd allowed it, would have long been your favourites for their thoughtfulness and courtesy. Suddenly they seem like little treasures to be hoarded. It will be difficult to leave, but these are dangerous times for you, and you don't dare to stay.

On the fourth day, you tell them – the ones you like well enough to bother with – that the store is closing, and you're leaving town. You've been through this before, changing lives, but this is different. You offer them a portion of your starter and tell them how to feed it. One woman, a mother with small children and a useless husband, asks you if anyone is taking over the store. You tell her no, and wish her luck. The town won't miss you – you were never really there.

You are closing your shop for the last time. The strangeness of breaking your routine is familiar, and you try to think about that and not what comes next. You've never liked uncertainty, but in a way it is still Merithanwe cajoling you to do something against your nature. Your feelings on that are complicated and you push them away unexamined, as has been your habit for a long time now. When Merit – the girl – comes to your shop, she finds you doing nothing, thinking about nothing, instead of doing or thinking about any of the things that require your attention. She is a distraction, at least, welcome or otherwise.

Merit sits beside you, nervously, and asks if you will teach her magic. You tell her you are leaving town with Solana, but this does not deter her. She declares she will come. You promise nothing, though you already know you will do it. You've been so many other things – why not a teacher? She is a relation after all, though a distant one. You tell her it will be dangerous, though, because that is true. There is a wizard, after all, searching for the key to the star map of Fya-ahz-alun...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas, Kawa (http://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomonymous/profile) and Nary (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/)! Any remaining errors are all on me.
> 
> The title is from a song of the name by The Poppy Family, which follows a similar theme. I like some of the other implications of it here though.
> 
> In case anyone is wondering, the dragons in question here are emerald dragons, and I probably did more poking through old monster manuals to find a type that made sense that was really strictly necessary.
> 
> I hope you like it!


End file.
